


It Was A Gift

by lunacosas



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, but it's subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas
Summary: She's beautiful, and Jaskier suddenly forgets how to function, never mind flirt.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Priscilla, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #013





	It Was A Gift

She is, in a word, beautiful.

Jaskier spills the chocolate sprinkles he’s decorating a mocha with all over the rim of the takeaway cup and over half the counter, cursing when he realises his mistake. He tears his attention away from the gorgeous dark-haired woman and down to the mess he’s made.

“Ah, sorry about that,” he tells the redhead he’s supposed to be serving. She seems to be the stunning woman’s friend, and waves his apology away.

“It happens,” she says. At least with the lid on his crime is only visible on the counter now.

“Enjoy the rest of your day!” he says a little breathlessly, and then half a second later wonders if he said the right thing. His attention is pulled towards the beautiful woman again, even as he reaches for her order. “A large americano with an extra shot, to go,” he announces.

She steps forward as he fumbles for a lid, her head tilted ever so slightly as she watches him, beautiful dark hair cascading over her shoulders. There’s too much for him to take in in one glance. He needs hours, days, weeks, and years to appreciate everything about her.

His tongue suddenly awkward, he clips the lid into place and shakily pushes her drink towards her. “Enjoy your pretty!”

She smirks, the corner of her perfectly painted, deep maroon lips quirking up in amusement, and something catches within his chest, his breath hitching and cheeks burning as he realises what he said. Her eyes glint with amusement in the same moment she shifts, and the light falling through the window catches the necklace sitting at her chest. As his eyes plummet downward he sees the colour glittering in it, and staring at the mess on the counter he wonders what the hell is wrong with him today.

“Uh,” he manages, but the redhead is already guiding her friend away.

There’s only one more customer waiting to be served, and Jaskier turns to Priscilla wanting to break but he’s given an order instead.

“Later,” she says before he’s even pleaded.

He makes the flat white and really hopes the old man isn’t too bothered about the shoddy fern pattern because Jaskier’s hands are shaking too much to do it again.

~~~

“Did you fall in love again?” Priscilla teases, and if she wasn’t so far away Jaskier would flick dirty mop water at her.

“Of course not,” Jaskier scoffs, and then finds himself feeling indignant. “I don’t fall in love at the drop of a hat, you know.”

“Oh, but you do,” Priscilla smirks, and although she’s pretty she’s beautiful in a way that’s different from the woman from earlier. Priscilla’s soft warmth isn’t like the aura the dark-haired woman possessed. “You know you do,” she continues. “Who was it last week? That brunette with the battered tuba case?”

He mops the floor with weakening resolve.

“And then that guy with the mohawk. You wouldn’t stop fawning all through closing that day.” She’s having more fun than he is. Usually Jaskier doesn’t mind because what she says is true, he will fall in love with strangers very, very easily, but this isn’t like that.

“Come on Jask! Fawn!” she laughs.

He slops too much water onto the floor, and sighs.

“Oh no,” Priscilla says, abandoning date-checking the contents of the fridge. “No, no, no.”

He’s chewing his lip when she comes over to his side and looks worriedly at him.

“You don’t pine quietly. What’s up? What’s wrong? Talk about her! She was pretty!”

“No,” he can’t help saying. “She was…”

He remembers her, the painfully intense beauty of everything about her. She was so unreachable, so perfect, so far out of his league. For once in his life he doesn’t have the words.

He feels Priscilla’s hand against his shoulder, patting him. “It’s been a long day,” she says gently.

He agrees.

Together they close up, and nothing more is said of the dark-haired woman. Jaskier is still thinking about her though. When he goes home that night he falls asleep remembering that smirk, and the strangely cool radiance of her beauty.

~~~

He didn’t expect to see her again, but two days later when he’s stuck covering an opening shift he glances left at the length of the queue and almost closes his hand in the till. Somehow without looking at him he still feels her gaze on him. He has to void the next transaction because he’s so distracted he pushes the wrong buttons and is about to overcharge the customer. He has no idea what’s wrong with him. He’s usually really good at things like this. People enjoy talking to him because he’s good at it. He smiles readily and can make people laugh easily, and no one has ever minded him flirting with them. He’s certainly never been this nervous before talking to someone he’s only met once before.

But then again, he’s never met anyone this beautiful. There’s something different about this woman. She reminds him of the full moon on the clearest night, of the glittering colours of light that fracture and dance in the prettiest glass, and the deep notes of the most beautiful cello that resonates through his entire being. If there was a physical embodiment of the northern lights, she would be it. Nothing about this woman is ordinary.

When it’s her turn, she’s already looking at him, her deep gaze locking with his. He feels like a scruffy rabbit caught in the headlights. “Um,” he starts, and then realises she’s waiting for him. “WhatcanIgetyou?”

The corner of her mouth pulls upwards, and her body shifts slightly as she runs her fingertip along the edge of the counter, the inky black gloss of her nail almost touching the wooden surface. “I’ll take a medium black forest hot chocolate to go,” she said, and her voice is everything it promises to be, rich and seductive even though she is speaking softly. Jaskier’s knees go weak.

He presses the button on the till, nodding and opening his mouth to ask if that’s all.

“But only if you’ll make it,” she adds.

Her words take a moment to process, and Jaskier knows how stupid he looks for those few seconds. He looks at her, and sees that she’s serious. Were she anyone else, he might find the request annoying, but something about the demand is attractive. “I’ll, um…”

He rings through her order, forgetting to ask if she wanted anything else, and then switches places with Eve, who seems grateful to escape the coffee machine.

He’s done this so long that the whole process is second nature to him. As long as he doesn’t think about the beautiful woman watching him, he’ll be fine. He measures everything out, heating the milk to perfection without even checking the thermometer, drawing the components together with meditative focus. This time when he finishes making the drink he doesn’t spill the sauce or the chocolate shavings, and he’s pleased with himself for that.

“A medium black forest hot chocolate and cream to go,” he says, sliding it towards the waiting woman.

Her hand reaches out, delicate fingertips brushing against his skin as she gives him a soft, unexpected smile that could almost be at his expense.

“Enjoy!” he squeaks out, pulling his hand back and thanking any and all gods out there that he’d already loosened his grip on the cup so didn’t jerk it back out her hand and spill it.

“I will,” she murmurs, “thank you, Jaskier.”

He has absolutely no recollection of how he got through the rest of his shift. He only hopes he got all the orders that requested dairy-free milk right.

When Priscilla turns up for her late shift, he’s still unable to put much into words. He’s glad she doesn’t tease him, although he knows she wants to. He heads home and pulls out his guitar, and half an hour later realises he’s come home wearing his apron.

~~~

He would very much like to know her name.

She’s come in again. It’s been a week, and he’d thought he wouldn’t see her again, but as he’d been chatting warmly to a very cute brunet at the counter, the woman and her friend came back. Priscilla had called over their order, and the brunet had left. Now, Jaskier is easing the two drinks towards the women, and he’s aware that they’re both watching him. His attention, however, is on the necklace the dark-haired has resting over her neck-high black jacket. The glass glitters in different colours, like a snowflake that’s caught the rainbow, and he remembers it from the first time, when it glittered as brightly as the look in her eye. The rest of her outfit is different, all black, all her rings silver from the snake coiled around her thumb to the pentagram pressed against her ring finger, and the glass necklace is the only fragile seeming thing about her.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he manages to say, looking up.

She’s silent again this time, but her eyes – beautifully lined with a perfect flick of liquid eyeliner – meet his and seem to smile with curious delight.

The two of them turn away, and Jaskier is aware of Priscilla almost vibrating with excitement three paces away. He ignores her, turning to clean the steam arm.

At the station opposite the counter, the redhead is dumping sugar into her already sweet latte. The dark-haired woman is carefully stirring her plain black coffee (with an extra shot) with one of the wooden stirrers, listening to whatever her friend is excitedly whispering. She reminds Jaskier of Priscilla for a moment.

And then the beautiful woman, carrying herself with the utmost grace, glides back over to the counter and places her drink on it.

“I can’t get the lid back on. Will you do it for me?”

“Sure!” he agrees, taking the lid from her and pretending he’s acting as normally around her as he would with any other customer.

To his mild surprise, the lid splits when he fits it back over the cup.

“Oh, hang on, let me get another one.”

“Did it split?” the redhead asks, materialising at her friend’s side.

“It did,” the dark-haired woman says. It sounds like she’s answering more than just what she’s been asked.

Her drink re-lidded and returned to her, she lingers, and Jaskier meets her gaze again. Her eyes are truly beautiful, almost purple in this light.

“Do you believe in magic?”

He finds himself breathless, the weight of her question settling over him. He doesn’t laugh at it, or give her a frivolous answer, because she seems serious. “I have no reason not to.”

She nods almost imperceptibly at that. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but it shifts to something that seems like acceptance. At her side, her friend is grinning almost alarmingly, and Jaskier’s attention flickers to her. She giggles worryingly

“Come on, let’s go,” the dark-haired woman says to her friend, turning away and almost dragging the redhead away.

Jaskier has no idea what’s just happened, or what the question meant. He’s still staring after them, baffled, when Priscilla comes up to him.

“Firstly, it’s your turn to check the restroom,” she says, grinning knowingly. “And secondly, you really actually like her, don’t you?”

She doesn’t mean the same way he normally loves people, fleetingly and freely. She means something else.

He nods, feeling a wry smile tug at his lips. The answer is easy. “Yes.”

~~~

Her name is Yennefer.

She comes in on a quiet Tuesday afternoon and takes a seat at the table in the corner that looks out over the street. As he clears away the table next to her, she calls him by his name.

“When’s your next break?”

He glances at the dishes he’s dealing with. “Um, ten minutes.”

“Come and sit with me. I’ll wait.”

He nods, not sure what’s happening. He moves away with a tray half full of dirty cups and saucers, heading for the back. Eve and Priscilla are chatting softly amongst themselves, the coffee shop all but empty and the lull likely to last until around the time schools close. His hands shake for a moment as he fills the dishwasher with the meagre offerings. He doesn’t know what this woman wants, why she’s asking for his time. He thinks of her sitting there, grace gathered around her like the finest of garments, her captivating deep blue eyes and her deeply painted lips, the blood red of her nails and the midnight black of her striking dress. He tries to steady himself with a slow sigh. It would be so much easier if he fell for her the way he falls for nearly everyone else. The way his whole body is tugged by a deep, steady ache is far from trivial. His heart isn’t racing or her, but it wants to.

She, on the other hand, hasn’t seen much of him beyond a slightly bumbling barista. What he wouldn’t give to be able to reach for his usual demeanour, to flirt and chatter away with effortless ease and make her smile and laugh.

It is what it is, though, and there’s nothing he can do. He unties his apron and hangs it up, washing his hands and then walking to the counter as a customer. With a goat’s cheese and balsamic vinegar wrap in one hand and mango tea in the other, he walks over to join her.

“Hey,” he says a little tensely.

Her eyes hold a smile in them as she gestures at the free seat. “Take a seat.”

He does, wondering why it feels almost like an interview. He feels like he should have dressed up, that his plain shirt and black pants are underwhelming and probably creased. The woman’s posture is perfect, everything about her resonating with some sort of ideal. Jaskier’s attention falls for a moment to where the glass necklace, a starburst of delicate colour, rests above the lace of her dress, then follows the line up to the black choker embracing her throat. He doesn’t fully recognise the symbol on it, but something about it tugs at his mind.

“I’m pleased you could join me,” she says.

“Yeah?” he asks, surprised. “I mean, thanks for asking.”

“I’m not encroaching?”

He shakes his head, poking at his sandwich. “No, I normally hide through the back, scarf down a snack and then get right back to it.”

“I see,” she says, before taking a small sip of her americano. “I suppose you’re not allowed to take your break out here?”

“No, we’re not,” Jaskier agrees, before laughing. “We make the place look too untidy.”

“Hm,” is all she says, and they lapse into silence.

Jaskier looks down at his plate, and takes a bite of his wrap.

“You know,” she says halfway through his mouthful, “you’re very sweet.”

He freezes, staring at her. Sweet? That… well that’s not great, is it, but that’s not terrible? It’s something your aunt might call you. Jaskier doesn’t think he’s been called sweet since he was ten, and certainly hasn’t been sweet since he was three. He doesn’t know what to think or feel.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?” she’s asked, a faint crease appearing on the woman’s brow.

He shakes his head, swallowing his mouthful without properly chewing it. “No, no. It’s good!” he reassures her. “Just… not usually the impression people have of me.”

“Oh. I see.” She adjusts her coffee cup, changing the angle of the handle a little and studying it for a moment before looking up at him. “I’m Yennefer.”

It strikes Jaskier as a very beautiful name. “Yennefer. That’s a really pretty name,” he says. “It suits you.”

She holds his gaze, as if testing the weight of his words to see if they’re true. After a moment, she seems to accept them and softens. “Have you worked here long?”

“Two years,” he replies easily. “Do you live in town?”

“Yes. I work here too.”

“What sort of job do you have?” he wonders.

“I have a store.”

Somehow, he didn’t expect that. He’s not sure what he expected. “What do you sell?”

A little smile tugs at the corner of her lips, as if the answer she gives him amuses her. “Curiosities, shall we say?”

“Okay, now I’m curious,” he admits, leaning forward.

She leans forward too, ever so slightly, her perfectly manicured nails going to the necklace at her breast. “You could guess, or I could show you some time, if you like?”

He sees something strange in her in that moment, something very close to uncertainty hidden beneath the playful confidence. She seems hopeful for his answer, as if the possibility of him saying ‘no’ is very real to her. He wonders how she can think that. “I’d like that,” he says, not really sure what’s happening.

She relaxes a little, the smile that had wavered steadying.

“Is it jewellery?” Jaskier suddenly asks.

Yennefer tilts her head the smallest of fractions. “Why do you ask?”

“Your necklace,” Jaskier says, nodding to it. “It’s really pretty. I don’t know, I thought…”

“Oh, this?” To his surprise, she begins to take it off, reaching back to unfasten the chain. “This was a gift.”

She refastens the chain and then holds the beautiful, delicate thing out to him. Jaskier hastily brushes his fingers against his pants before taking it in his hand. It’s lighter than he thought, like air, as cold to the touch as snowfall, the colour inside intense. Six smaller points are eclipsed by six larger ones, each a unique colour. Jaskier holds it reverently and lightly traces each point, afraid he’ll crush it.

“It was handmade,” Yennefer continues as he studies it carefully. “And it’s far stronger than it looks. You can’t damage it.”

Jaskier snorts softly. “Don’t be so sure.”

Yennefer is wearing an amused expression as she holds her hand out for its return. “You strike me as someone who is good with their hands.”

“You saw me spill cocoa powder everywhere.”

“I did,” she smirks, and then looks down at her open palm, where the necklace rests. Her expression becomes thoughtful, her fingers closing around the beautiful glass. “You know,” she says, the tone of her voice shifting. It’s softer, richer, and Jaskier watches her as she holds her hand out again, above his. “I think you should have this.”

“What?” he blurts out. “No, I couldn’t possibly! It’s yours.”

“Jaskier.”

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. The tone of her voice is captivating, the look she wears as she gazes at him encouraging him to open his palm and accept the gift.

It drops into his palm with a little more weight than he remembers. It’s warm now too. The colours seem to shift, playing tricks on him as he looks at the gift. “Are you sure?” he has to ask, stunned.

“Very,” she smiles, and it’s a warm, gentle smile that captivates him and steals his breath. His heart skips a beat, his stomach fluttering pleasantly. “How long until your break’s over?”

He has to look round to see the clock, and ignores the way Priscilla is trying to catch his attention. “Ten minutes.”

“You should eat up,” Yennefer reminds him.

First, he carefully works the clasp of the necklace open, awkwardly fastening it around his neck. It feels safer there than in his pocket. Across from him, Yennefer leans back in her seat and takes a sip of her coffee, seeming satisfied. “It suits you,” she tells him.

His fingers lingering on the beautiful glass, feeling its warmth, he smiles at her. “Thanks.”

They finish their drinks, and Jaskier his wrap, together with unexpectedly easy conversation. By the time Yennefer parts, she has Jaskier’s number, and her touch lingers for a moment on the back of his hand when she stands and bids him farewell.

He watches her go with a slightly dazed grin. Priscilla is going to have a field day.

Her name is Yennefer, and Jaskier knows that, in a few weeks and months from now, he could easily love her in a way he’s never loved before.


End file.
